


Inshallah

by Enedda



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Denim shirt, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Marcus is a cat, Neck Kissing, Results of spilled tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enedda/pseuds/Enedda
Summary: Early spring morning at Peter's house. Tea party. Things happen. Marcus thinks too much, definitely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWolfQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfQueen/gifts).



“Hey, I brought the tea. Still want some?” Peter put down the tray on the table and looked up at Marcus, who was sitting in a reading nook by the window and soaking up the sun.

“That would be a blessing. Thanks,” Marcus put a bookmark in the book and put it aside.

They sat close to each other in the nook - by now Marcus got used to this word - enjoying the shared space and the early spring day.  Peter was blissfully warm. This man was basically an engine.

So that was his life now: curiouser and curiouser every day. He was full, warm and tended for. He wouldn't be surprised if someone yelled “April Fools” and took it all away in an instant.

Happened before.

“Penny for your thoughts? Peter reached for his chin, wanting to look into his eyes. That was strange, too. The little touches, the comfort of someone being so close. And this someone really liked him. Desired him, even, which was even stranger. Marcus never felt desired. Never really wanted. One night stands didn't count, being just a way of curing his aching skin and empty heart.

A lot of firsts on this little island.

“Nothing special. Thinking of something I've read,” he sipped his tea and then decided he actually wanted to talk about this.

“You know _Quran_? The holy book of Islam?” he started.

“You and your holy books. Once a priest...”

“Always a priest, yes. But here you have an ex one if I can remind you. With no vows currently attached. More or less."

Well, that was the truth, after all. He was no saint.

“I've seen the less part more if I recall. But you were talking."

Marcus raised his cup in a small toast. “Do you know the meaning of the word - a phrase, sorry, _Inshallah_?"

“Not particularly, no. Doesn't ring a bell. Sounds Arabic.”

“It is. And it is very simple. _If God allows_. I was thinking, how appropriate it is, for me at least. I arrived back here, to you, not knowing if you have me. If God allows it.”

“And does he?”

“Ain't got the foggiest, me. But you feel good. This all -” he looked around, gesturing with his cup “ - feels good.”

“Yeah, being old and retired has its charms.”

Marcus smiled. Peter had a little custom - a quite charming one – underlining his so-called old age almost every day, looking for either confirmation or negation. It seemed a bit like his own way of checking if a person he liked was to stay for good. Unveiling his broken heart, jagged bones and sharp edges as soon as possible usually scared everyone. At least it was the case, until Peter. He just cried with him and kissed him and made him tea.

Later he kissed all his scars, trying to replace bad memories with the beginning of new ones. That was one hell of a night.

And one heaven of it all.

“Hey, Earth to Marcus. Earth to Marcus. We have a problem.”

“Mmm?"

“Tea landed somewhere it shouldn't,” Peter laughed. By now, he knew Marcus' little quirks too. Being lost in thoughts was definitely the main one.

“Bugger!” His favourite shirt. The denim one with pearl buttons, he had it on the boat, when The Things happened.

“One thing to do, dear. Undress.”

“Thought you never ask, love,” Marcus' hands were already going down the buttons. Peter stood up and extended his hand, waiting. His eyes were full of something good and warm.

“Thanks. First the soak, then the rest. Adulting 101,” he grabbed the stained denim and disappeared in the hallway.

The rest. Marcus stretched like a cat, already feeling familiar heat bubbling in his blood. What did he do to deserve this? To deserve... him?

That was Good ™.

He almost jumped, startled, when he felt Peter's lips on the back of his neck. They were warm and felt almost liquid, like honey dripping down, raising little hairs on his arms. They were close, breathing the same air. When Marcus felt his lover's teeth, he stopped breathing for a second. He still didn't know what to do with all the emotions he felt in such moments. He was well accustomed to the way his body reacted, but his mind was usually normal. Loud but still. Now things were different. Every touch evoked thoughts, images, tears sometimes. He didn't want to cry. He wanted to feel the warmth, the aching, the breath on his skin.

The warmth... God, this blessed warmth, giving colour to his skin and humming in his blood. His body was singing its own Song of Songs now, taking life from Peter’s touch. His lover was tracing along the collarbones with his tongue, marking his skin. It felt sacred. For Marcus, it felt like adoration.

The aching... not so from Peter's teeth, but from his hungered self. This body, which he tried to console in so many broken ways. The scarring, the starvation, the abandonment. Even the ill-fitting clothes were one, as were the tattoos. The pain bloomed from every pore now, mixing with sweat and trembling. He was healing at last.

The breath... he was underwater, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear but their connected little sounds. Two universes overlapping like a perfect Venn diagram. Peter's passion was his own. His hunger was Peter's.

Marcus turned his head, looking for his lips. He kissed him, slow at first, tracing the red with his tongue. He wanted to make this as sensual, as languid as possible, but when he felt Peter's pulse quicken under his fingers, he has lost it. Their kiss was a fight between darkness and light, cold and warmth, devil and God and the good was winning, at last. He could be happy, at last.

_Inshallah_. If God allows it.

Peter was kissing his back now, going down, down and up again, rediscovering old tracts. They held each other close as if in fear of losing the connection, straying from the way. The room has shrunk to the size of their pulsating bloodstreams. Light was everywhere: a warm, enclosing wave resonating with their every movement.

Borders, labels, words didn't matter anymore. They communicated only with touch and taste and breath like blind men. Nothing else was there, really. Nothing to grasp but the body of your beloved. Nothing to taste but him.

Marcus was thinking of the face of God. That, years ago, was for a split moment. This was a for a lifetime.

Something bothered him about this. He opened his eyes, trying to find the sudden change. The warmth has left. Shifted somewhere else.

Peter was kneeling before him, looking into his eyes. His hands were on his thighs, waiting. He always asked, not always using words. Marcus felt love. Utter and complete love. Devotion. Worship.

He felt worshipped and idolatry was a sin.

His whole body tensed. Tears welled up. Guilt was creeping up, up his spine like an immortal snake, so familiar and so very much hated.

Peter understood. His bedrock.

"Let me", he hushed him. "Let me take care of you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you and I won’t let go." Seeing his distress, he touched his cheek, tracing down the one tear that got out.

"Marcus? Look at me," Peter urged. "| watch wildlife for a living. You remind me of a feral cat. When in distress, they tend to tear out their fur, scratch themselves until they bleed. You don’t even see it, don’t you? The resemblance. You’ve been reading today and scratched your whole arm. You need touch like air and food. There isn't anything wrong with it. There isn't anything wrong with you. Let me in and let me love you. I love you, Marcus."

_Inshallah_. God, I love him.

Marcus reached down and kissed Peter as deep as he could, almost choking down on his tears, drowning his sorrow with love. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning after a nightmare. Peter is caring. Marcus is... well, being himself. Lots of steam.

For TheWolfQueen, who always keeps me going.

For the next few days, things were quiet in Peter's house. The lights on the porch were on during the warm evenings and the fireplace burned during cold ones. The men talked, cooked and slept together in simple harmony, no questions asked, no skin burned. They both needed some calm, and it was granted. At least  it seemed  so.

One Wednesday night Marcus dreamt of something dark coming upon them. This something had yellow eyes and a name older than all the known religions.

"Not possible", murmured Marcus and got up  quietly , not wanting to wake up Peter. The man needed his sleep, or he could be cranky as a child.

He went to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face and looked in the mirror. He looked old. Not like the usual old and tired - it looked like the dream has taken something with it and didn't give it back this time. Lack of sleep,  maybe  .  Possibly .

Marcus shivered. The bathroom was cold. It was very early,  just  before the sun and the heating was off during the night. A shower would be a blessing, but Peter...

Meaning, no shower.

Not knowing what else to do, he came back to the bed, sat on it and reached for his rosary. It waited for him after the evening prayer, always below his pillow, always ready.

 "Why are you up, babe?"

Markus jumped, startled. Peter was a light sleeper, after all. He laid down, stretching his legs as far as he could.

"Had a nightmare, love. Thought a prayer would chase the demons away."

"Here's hoping." Peter scooted closer and put his head on Marcus' chest. "Is that okay?"

"The best," Marcus smiled. "But I have to warn you, I'm sweaty and will start to stink soon."

 "I think  I can manage that. Pray away."

Three tens of the rosary later things started looking lighter, and it was easier to breathe. Peter fell asleep and snored like a sated puppy. Marcus kissed his head and smiled to himself. If this wasn't happiness, he didn't know what was.

"G'morning," purred Peter, waking up again. "Are you feeling better?"

"Definitely."

"How about that shower, then?"

"Yes, sir." Marcus got up, put the rosary away and made a beeline to the bathroom.

He put the heater on and undressed, not thinking of anything. For him, it was a blessing. This silence in his head didn't mean there weren't any answers. It meant everything was finally in place. He didn't need to hide anymore, pretend that he is alright when he wasn't.  His scars had a chance to heal.

Okay, maybe heas thinking. A little.

All the thinking stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Do you know you are standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, Marcus?" Peter laughed and put the shower on.

"Now I need to warm you up, or you will catch something nasty."

Markus blinked. No, he didn't know. So that was for "no thinking". Or "thinking a little". Good thing Peter was a friend. Once he did that in a nunnery. The Mother wasn't impressed, and the amount of ironing he was forced todo was terrifying. The worst penance ever.

"Babe?" Peter reached out from under the shower. "Come, join me. Don't go into the woods again, please. Once a morning is enough."

"Yeah, sorry. Didn't realise," Marcus felt a little embarrassed. He lived with that man, and this happened more often than it should. He massaged his temples for a moment and hopped inside the not-so-spacious shower.

"That thing wasn't designed for... that." The last word he spoke was more a breath than a real thing because Peter's mouth landed in the crook of his neck aalmost instantly.

 "I missed you," Peter smiled, mouth still lingering on his wet skin. "Wanted to remind you I'm here."

His touch was feathery light, and together with warm water, it made his skin tingle and sing. Marcus leaned on the tiled wall with a sigh, caressing Peter's neck, kissing his head for the umpteenth time this morning.

His vision blurred. He felt like there was a thin veil of passion covering everything like the scented steam bringing the smell of their llove.e would sell his eyes if it  were needed  to feel this touch, this man. He would sell his soul to be this warm inside for all the time.

Peter was like a storm, starting  slowly  and with time gaining strength, giving thunder, and lightning Marcus could see behind his closed eyes. He smelled the ozone in the air and understood that the green pastures from the psalm could be a person, too.

They say home is not a something, but a someone and it would seem they are right. Whoever that is.

"Hey, love," Marcus managed to speak after a while. "We shouldn't... do anything more in here. It's not safe."

"Mmm," Peter purred as an answer. Then he raised his head and looked straight into Marcus' eyes with desire so strong it could be only described as hhunger."Then come to my bed."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is a person.

"Inshallah" means a prayer. It's a blessing knowing that your God blesses your hours and looks upon you with a smile. That was the only thought in Marcus' mind when Peter led him to their bed. Their lovemaking was still new, something to learn every time. Everything was fresh and honest, not hidden by lies; sometimes raw - there is a strange beauty in rawness sometimes.

The clean sheets a shock to warmed skin. A bit too rough in the beginning, they've softened after a while of tenderness. Old wounds opened and healed. Breath clouded in the air. White teeth on pink skin, changing pain into love, always.

Every pore scented, bodies slick with moisture. Hands locked firmly, and the seeking each other again lost in the white sea of crumpled linen. White on white and golden on white, blurring into each other.

Warmth rising upwards, heating the racing blood, making the hearts gallop in unison. Voices singing pleasure, ever-reaching.

Golden light everywhere.

"Inshallah," thought Marcus and closed his eyes, holding Peter close before they fell asleep.

Life is good.


End file.
